


Incarnation

by Eugewo (faeliya)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeliya/pseuds/Eugewo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean couldn't tell if he was lying or not. There was no torture chair to hold him down. No torture instruments for him to tune with, make him scream bloody nightmare. It was just him—with these weird dreams he's been having, experiences he's been subjected to, emotions he's been forced to feel—and Castiel.</p><p>In a moment of confusion and hysteria though, Dean pulls the trigger.</p><p>—When Dean finds himself stranded in a war waged between two families, Dean must choose to side with his elusive brother and wicked fiance or the familiar stranger with piercing blue eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incarnation

~

Your presence is requested by

........................................

Sam Winchester & Ruby Doe

........................................

to share a special moment with them

on Saturday, the 12th of April

at half-past four in the afternoon.

 

1111 E Marion Drive

Traverse City, Michigan 49686

~

When Dean Winchester first receives the wedding invitation he does not know _what_ it is exactly. The envelope is similar to those empty cards his co-workers or the seldom few clients send to him for either being awesome at getting sick or doing awesome at his job—usually it's the former though, sad as it is.

So Dean tosses it, along with the other junk in his mail—mail with no sender information get chucked first, then advertisements, and anything else Dean deems unimportant. Most of the time it's just bills that he keeps, but even that is mostly done online nowadays. The only reason he even bothers having the few mail sent his way is to keep a low profile.

Neighbors can be quite attentive at the ill times and a house not receiving mail—or that time when Dean was gone for a case a bit _too_ long was enough to rouse suspicion with papers bulging and screaming ' _notice me_ ' from his mailbox—can rouse suspicion from the local mailman or anyone else paying close attention.

So when the familiar white envelope sealed with a golden emblem on the flap, with yet no sender contact, comes in again Dean is suspicious. After sorting through the rest of his mail, he lays the letter in the middle of the counter as he paces and contemplates opening it. It may just be a letter, but Dean knows better. _Knows_ after having moved some twenty times in the last five years.

This _letter_ could be something from an enemy. Although it would be wise to just open the damn thing up and read its contents, Dean isn't too sure if the letter itself has any other contraptions or mechanics behind it. Paper or not, Dean's learned his lesson from a _freakin' control-operated pen_ that nearly stabbed him in the eye.

Trust Dean to get more than a paper cut when he opens this son of a bitch up.

When he braves to break the seal and pull the _thing_ from inside out, to say Dean is a bit surprised is an understatement. To say he gets more than a paper cut is also an understatement.

Dean is confused at first, but he knows no other Sam _Winchester_ and that is definitely a _Ruby Doe_ written right next to his brother's name. _The_ Ruby Doe that Dean abhors, that Sam _knows_ , but is getting married to no less. In the end, Dean tosses the invitation away and stomps his way to bed.

The rest of his week is spent feeling angry, restless, and _betrayed_. Sam knows about Ruby, what Dean _told_ him about Ruby, but what does he do? Get hitched the the damn demon! Sammy should _know_ better. He _knows_ why Dean does what he does, what he does, and what he will _have_ to do if his next case concerns the Doe family.

Dean can't risk it. He can't risk the chances that his brother will be involved, so he'll have to go to the damn wedding and object to the son of a bitch union. He'll crash it if he has to, anything before Sam can say 'I do' and slide the ring on. Hell, Ruby probably has him brainwashed or better yet—blackmailed—to marry her. God knows Ruby's been crushing on Sam since they met.

However, before Dean could even so much as pick up the invitation, he's given a case and storming through the house in a rush to prepare for the 9'oclock plane to New York that's leaving in less than twenty minutes.

Three months later, April 10th, Dean returns home—bruised and bloody, ten before witching hour—and collapses, exhausted on his carpet floor in the entryway. Come morning, Dean jostles awake from the crink in his neck and metallic smell of the blood still on him from a few nights ago.

He'll have to replace the carpet again.

Still tired and sore, Dean half-stumbles up the stairs and into his bedroom. He strips and tosses his ruined clothes into a hamper nearby before sleep walking into the shower stall across the hall. The warm shower is a blur, but when Dean steps out he is much more alert and awake.

Dressing in a simple pair of jeans and a henley, Dean makes his way back downstairs to get a good look at the mess he'll no doubt have to clean up himself. Can't risk a carpenter asking him _why_ blood is on his carpet, now.

The stain is not that large, but has seeped deep into the carpet with no way to clean it out completely. Indeed, he'll have to change it out. Luckily, he still has a few meters left of that particular carpet flooring. He'll just have to ply the bottom end of the carpet, clean underneath for any blood that _really_ seeped through, cut off the ruined parts, and then re-pad and carpet the area. He can finish it before lunch if he works fast enough.

Everything worked out in his head, Dean makes his way to the pantry that, instead of holding food, ended up housing all his equipment for occasions like this. It's not like he'd really home to cook that much. He's gone so often that by the time he can actually relax at home and perhaps cook, all the food is rotten. And don't get him started on canned food or frozen meals.

Last he kept some of those around, he was food poisoned. He has an aching suspicion is was more to do with the Buckingham case than food expiration.

"Shit! Fuck!" Dean curses, when he stubs his toe against the counter nearby, hand slamming on the granite top to steady himself.

Dean inspects the injury and frowns when he sees blood bleeding out behind his toenail. Great, now he'll have to replace the _whole_ carpet area on the ground level. Frustrated in his delay but nonetheless motivated to _not_ bring more work on himself, Dean cradles his right foot as he leans over the counter to find the first aid kit. His hand knocks a few things over, but he pays them no mind, eyes focused on the blood seeping out from underneath his toenail and—

_Oh, son of a bitch, it's gonna drip!_

Hurriedly grabbing the closest thing nearby, a parchment of some sort, Dean slides it underneath his foot to catch the blood. However, upon realizing what he was holding and  _doing_ to, Dean freezes, as sinking, sick feeling in his gut.

God, he was using his brother's _wedding_ invitation to _wipe_ is blood on—that was all kinds of crazy and _wrong_.

Hopping one-leggedly around the counter—which hurts his sides more than he could care to admit—and pulling a few tissues from the Kleenex box that was actually nearby, Dean sits himself on a nearby stool to stop the bloodflow.

He also sets the bloodstained invitation _far_ away from himself in fear of staining it even more.

An awkward silence passes by before Dean reaches for the envelope again, sliding the card out to read once again. Apparently, there was an RSVP required, but it wasn't like Dean was go—

Dean's eyes almost bulge out of his skull when he sees the date. _April 12_. Today was the 11th.

Dropping everything, Dean rushes to his bedroom to pack in a haste, suddenly pausing after zipping his carry-on bag though. What is he doing? He needs to think through this carefully, not rush in blindly. He's no help to anyone diving in emotion-first, instead of headfirst. So Dean plants himself on the bed, head cradled in his hands, thinking this all over.

It would take some fourteen hours to get their by car, maybe four or five by plane—so he still has time. He can take a car, although it'll be a rented disaster since he left his baby back in New York during the commotion. She wouldn't arrive until a week at least. If worst, he can take a plane, but he's still not cleared for clearance, it wouldn't be safe.

That's all fine then. Dean hates planes anyways. It's harder to elude on a damn hovering craft anyways—more chances of getting shot down and involving innocents.

That means he won't arrive until maybe morning though, if he'll need to re-maneuver and re-route to avoid getting caught. He'll need to drive straight into the night, as dangerous as it is in the blue book. There was also something about rehearsal at noon too, but Dean won't be going for that. He's going to stop this wedding and rescue a princess in guise of his naive and stupid brother.

It'll be like those action movies him and Sam used to watch. Dean smiles softly at that.

He'll also need to prepare prior to crashing the wedding, so he might not make it in time for the wedding. Dean clenches his teeth at that thought. _No_. He'll make it. He _has_ to. If he does a bit of research right now—an hour or two—he can find his way around the area. Yes. That sounds like a good idea.

If he wanted, he could probably hit Charlie up for help, but Dean decides else-wise. This is between him and Sam, the Winchesters and Doe clan. If they found traces of any outside help, they could target Charlie and her family or loved ones. Dean _cannot_ risk that. Bobby already got his ass handed to him when he helped out that one summer back in Sioux Falls. Dean knows better than to ask for outside help. This is on him and him alone—not even the firm could help, _if_ they even wanted to.

God knows how sissy pissy those guys can get. The HRs are too busy trolling around with poles up their ass to care, and the other workers are as indifferent and unresponsive as puppet robots. If it's not a case, no one is going to budge. Victor maybe, but he doesn't like breaking rules or doing things against the blue book.

Looks like Dean's on his own for this one. Sounds just about right for something so personal.

Mind set, Dean grabs his bag. He's got a personal vendetta to settle.

 


End file.
